


A truth I wouldn’t have to seek

by Elleaienen



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: (can be inturpreted as:), Absent Parents, Light Angst, Maelgwyn has a complicated relationship with confidence, Manipulation, Samothes and Samol are mentioned, Samothes's army is mentioned, To be sure:, Wolf Samot, and also his dads, especially Samot, really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:48:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29120733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elleaienen/pseuds/Elleaienen
Summary: The day Maelgwyn first encounters the Wolf is a cold one.A snap-shot of Maelgwyns adult life, while still loyal to Samothes's army.A cold week and a conversation
Relationships: Maelgwyn & Samot (Friends at the Table), Maelgwyn & Samothes (Friends at the Table)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	A truth I wouldn’t have to seek

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oziads](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oziads/gifts).



> Title from “The Truth Is a Cave” by The Oh Hellos (I always think of Maelgwyn when hearing this song, their albums “Through the Deep, Dark Valley” and “Dear Wormwood” are both great sources of samtheon-songs for me)

The day Maelgwyn first encounters the Wolf is a cold one. The frosted grass and trees are almost glinting in the morning light, the sun through the low mist doing seemingly nothing to melt away the almost blue tint to his surroundings. Maelgwyn slows his horse to a walk, a frozen puddle breaking like glass under hooves, as he marvels at the scene. He is sure, confident, that the warmth of the undying fire will soon win out, but in these early hours he can imagine a world where it would not. He does not doubt, he never doubts, but he allowed himself to appreciate the beauty of the cold, despite the light, unyielding.

He is so entranced in fact, that it takes his normally fearless mare startling for him to look around and see the wolf. It sits on the very edge of the forest, just out of reach of the sun, as still and as white as the mist that shrouds it. 

Samothes had warned him of them, of their claws and teeth and treachery. His father had called them bad omens, and while his aunt had scoffed in an offended manner, a younger Maelgwyn had absorbed every crumb, as he would with any of Samothes’s rare lessons. He might have heeded his father’s words had it not been for memories deeper still. Memories of a softer voice, weaving him endless tales of their adventures and undying loyalty, of gentle hands, wrapping him in the softest of cloaks. He halts his horse. This, however, does little to calm her, she seemingly wants nothing to do with the creature at the edge of the trees. He speaks to her softly, scratching her neck, but it is not until he makes to get of her back that she stills. He stays mounted then, lets her unusual behaviour slip his mind, and looks up.

The Wolf is slowly moving closer, having stepped only far enough to let the low sun catch on its face. Its white coat is glinting with frost much like the grass, and tiny droplets of ice caught in the longer hairs of its neck break the light, prismatic rays on thick fur. Maelgwyn manages a low muttering of “how long have you been sitting there” before the wolf takes another step and raises its head. Their eyes meet. Maelgwyn freezes.

The eyes are ice-blue and glistening in the light, glistening in the way crystals or ice might, and unlike any eyes should. They regard him with a calm look, not broken as the creature in a smooth motion sits down again, now halfway bathed in sunlight. 

It seems as if time stands still as they consider each other. Maelgwyn, despite being elevated on his horse, feels somehow small under the gaze of those familiar eyes. Because they are familiar. He remembers them from blurred memories and paintings hidden in deep rooms of the volcano sure, but he also meets that inhuman gaze in any reflective surface he happens upon, and reflective surfaces are hard to avoid in the keep of ingenuity alive. 

He has lovely eyes; the people tell him. The loveliest they have ever seen; they say. To Maelgwyn they are more of a curse, a cause of poorly concealed pain in Samothes’s face and a way for enemies to identify who not to engage. There are other reasons too, more selfish ones. For when Maelgwyn walks by a mirror, face framed by blonde hair and impossible eyes meeting impossible eyes, he aches. He has taken to putting his hair up.

When something finally changes, the sun has already risen high enough to make the ground steam from the melted frost. This seemingly melts Maelgwyn too. He breaks eye-contact with the wolf, and without saying a word, beckons his horse to turn back from whence they came. When casting a final look behind him, Maelgwyn find the wolf’s gaze still fixed on him. Now fully bathed in sunlight, His fur no longer shines with frost, but Maelgwyn can still make out the cold blue of those eyes. As his horse picks up the pace, Maelgwyn cannot help but to ponder that the only things the rising sun cannot melt are the twin eyes of the frosted Wolf and his confident son.

Maelgwyn does not speak of the Wolf as he returns, he is leading a survey mission north of Marielda, and he doubts that his father will ever let him lead one again if he gets word of who came to find him. It should maybe alarm him that the enemy’s leader assumingly knows of their camp, but Maelgwyn is somehow sure, confident, that no harm will befall them here.

The mission is scheduled to last a week, and everyday Maelgwyn wakes with the sun, wakes his sturdy old mare, he calls her Duck, and takes a long ride. If he is honest with himself, and he tries to be, these morning rides are maybe more about feeling the calm and feeding his own curiosity than about aiding the mission, but so be it. He has begun to feel trapped in his father’s city and is determined to make the most of this rare opportunity. 

Every day follows a pattern, he rides alone for the better part of an hour and then, no matter the direction he had set off in, he spotts the Wolf by the edge of the trees. The first two days following their first encounter he turns back at the first sight of Him, but after those three days of rides cut far too short he makes up his mind. 

This is not making the most of the opportunity, he reasons, and as he is sure that no harm will befall him, confident, what was even gained from turning back? Nothing, he decides, packing food and water to prolong his absence even further. It is only reasonable I do this as compensation, he argues to himself when a voice, sounding suspiciously like his father, remarks that he is hardly setting a good example for his comrades.

Maelgwyn sets of north-west, and when he eventually spots the Wolf he rides past Him, ignoring the piercing gaze trying to meet his. When he dares to look over his shoulder, he sees the Wolf following him at a distance, trotting along the edge of the forest and Maelgwyn, against all his better judgement, lets Him. He eventually stops to eat in a small gathering of trees in the middle of a dead meadow, yellow grass and dull flowers, long since killed by the cold. The Wolf is easy to spot, silhouetted against a lake, almost frozen over and surrounded by steep hills on all other sides, and makes no attempts to close the distance between them. Somewhere along the ride back, the wolf disappears. Maelgwyn is momentarily distracted from trying to make his frequent glances at the wolf seem inconspicuous by a bird in the sky, and when he looks back there is nothing but trees to be seen. 

This new routine continues for the remainder of the week, it is only on the last day of the mission, a cloudy Oteday, that something changes again. A shallow layer of snow has fallen over night, when he walks through it to get to wake his horse the leaves show where his feet have moved the snow, and he marvels at the changes in the landscape. He rides for a long while, yet there is no sign of the Wolf. The sun rises and the snow shows no sign of melting, he has never felt so far from home, but that notion brings him joy. 

They eventually reach the meadow from that third day, snow now covering the dead plants. Maelgwyn is somehow not surprised at the smoke spiralling towards the sky, originating from a campfire among the gathering of trees. A lean man sits silhouetted against the fire, his long blond hair illuminated by the flames, and Maelgwyn aches. He knows he should turn around right now, he is sure he should, confident. But he doesn’t, as with everything regarding this Wolf, he goes against his better judgment. 

As he approaches his father does not turn, just sits as silent as the Wolf always would. It is only as Maelgwyn goes to tie his horse to a tree that He speaks. “Take her reigns of and let her roam instead, there is no hurry”, Samot says, in a calm but tired voice. 

Maelgwyn hesitates, but answers: “From what I have been told, and from what I remember, well, you are not known for your patience, Wolf” he replies, still complying in releasing Duck from her reigns and letting her free. She seems to eye the figure by the fire with suspicion, but ultimately turns to dig through the snow for something to eat. 

A low chuckle is Samots only reply, and then, “She does not seem too fond of me, does she? Quite wise, that horse of yours, for even in this shape I am what you call me, boy.”

Maelgwyn turns towards him, “She does not want me to be here. If even you call her wise, then maybe I should have complied with her wishes” he utters, carefully making his way towards the fire. “Why are you even here?” he continues, close enough to watch the many golden rings that adorn his father’s fingers glint with reflected fire. As Maelgwyn sits down on an already dusted of stump opposite Him, he continues his questioning, “What made you so sure I would show up here anyway, I believe I have done little more than tolerate your presence these past few days” Maelgwyn forces his voice to stay controlled, as if whatever answers Samot may give him are of little interest to him. They truly are, he tells himself, reading too much into what this man has to say will only breed doubt he thinks. There is no room for doubt in him.

Samot keeps his head down-turned, looking at his hands as he answers, “Oh, little one, there is too much of my blood in yours for you not to, and you have proven your nature well enough.” There is a grin in Samot’s voice now, and as he slowly turns his gaze upwards towards Maelgwyn he continues, “Not as much as a greeting, only immediate questions. Even your presence here, I doubt being in enemy territory alone abides by your father’s instructions. Not everyone would be so keen on leaving that city with everything, but you, I think you yearn for answers in all you do, in the same way I do. I made a calculated guess, boy, and here you are”.

Eyes the same colour as the clouded sky, now again emitting snowflakes, meet his. Maelgwyn takes him in before replying, a sharp chin, cold eyes, and a grin with too many teeth. No rose tint colours his face, no blinking interrupts his studying gaze. His skin looks as cold as the snow, his voice betrays no emotion but mild amusement, and his face reveals nothing but weariness. If Maelgwyn did not know better, he would assume Samot devoid of any warmth at all. But he does know better, and he is sure it is true. A fire that is of little use to a wolf, a stub carefully rid of its snow quilt, and hands glinting with golden rings, far too intricate with engravings to be made anywhere else but the divine forge, proves this to him.

“If you know this to be true, should you not answer my questions?” Maelgwyn finally answers, slightly annoyed at his own predictability but craving answers nonetheless, “Now that we are both on the same page as to why I am here, why are you? And what do you want?” he continues, willing Samot not to avoid his questions like his other father so often did. 

There is a pause then, and as his father continues, there is no mirth in his voice, “I had hoped you would know the full truth of this world by now, as you don’t, I have come here. Think of this as an incentive of sorts, to urge you towards it”.

Maelgwyn is confused by this, and as he prefers to be sure, it angers him, “Is this the truth that made you leave? How am I supposed to learn the truth if all Samothes ever does is avoid my questions, and all you ever do is avoid me?”, when he realises the emotions leaking through his outburst, Maelgwyn quickly reigns himself in, there is no room for doubt in him, “If all you are going to give me are more questions, I do not need your help. I do not need you”, he speaks coldly.

There is a strange, almost fond expression on Samots face as he answers, “I know you do not need me, and it makes me glad. You must remember that I am not Samothes. Your father is determined that people be dependent on him, and that they need not seek knowledge of how to not be. Therefore, he avoids your question. As for me, well, I prefer to enable independence and encourage the pursuit of knowledge. Therefore, I cannot answer your questions in his stead.”, a small smile dances across Samot’s face then, “I am not asking you to let me help you, I am only saying that now might be the time to demand the answers to those questions you have always had, little one, I did not mean to sound harsh”.

Maelgwyn resigns himself to the fact that Samot is just as inclined to avoid his questions as his other father, only with better formulated excuses. As he continues the anger in his tone has faded to something closer to exasperation, “So, do tell me, how is receiving this information from father more, how did you put it, “independent” than receiving it from you?”

The grin is back on Samot’s face as he answers, “I would imagine getting that man to answer you in full will be hard enough to count as a fruit of your own labour, not mine.”

Maelgwyn carefully supresses any amusement from his voice before answering, “And if there is no fruit?”

A laugh, “Then you find your grandpa, child. I do think I remember overhearing him telling you to always ask him second if you were not allowed something by us. Well, I think he was referring more to extra dessert and playing outside past nightfall, you could barely see over the table then…”, his voice seems to trail of at this, and the sorrow that has seeped into his expression makes Maelgwyn hesitate. 

There is a still moment then. Samot watches the fire; Maelgwyn watches Samot. 

As Maelgwyn eventually breaks the silence, he hopes none of his inner turmoil seeps into his words, “I hardly have a hard time seeing over tables anymore, I am not a child.”

This breaks Samot from his daze, and still looking into the fire he answers, “Oh, Maelgwyn, I know. If I did not believe you to be ready, I would not ask this of you. If I am to be completely honest, and I want to be, there is a more truthful reason as for why I cannot answer you.”, He looks up now, their eyes meet, “I want you to learn the whole truth from someone else so that when you come to find me, and I am quite confident you will, we will both know it is of your own choice and volition, not mine.”

There is sorrow and fondness and cold on His face now, but the emotions quickly give way to weariness, Samot sounds tired as he continues, “Go now before the dark comes, it makes people lose their way.”

At this, Maelgwyn startles and looks around him. The sun is indeed low against the mountains across the lake, visible even through the thick clouds, and the trees are casting long shadows on the snow. It would be a miracle to make it back to camp before the sun is completely beyond the horizon, but he must, and therefor he will. 

It is strange, he thinks, the sun is far lower than it ought to be. Maelgwyn whips around to question his father about this, and freezes. Samot is already gone, the old log on which he sat long snowed over and the fire long put out. The snow shows no tracks but his own, faded ones, and the only sign of life is his mare, curiously peering at him through the gathering of trees. Maelgwyn slowly stands, tries to brush the snow out of his now damp hair, and sighs. 

He feels cold.

**Author's Note:**

> I initially planned to write a fic about all the events leading up to Maelgwyn turning sides and becoming a spy for Samot in Samothes’s army, but as writing often does, it ran away from me a bit and I had far less time to work with than I had anticipated. I still hope you like this small piece of how I imagine Maelgwyns adult life! I always found it a bit hard to believe that confidence alive would fight on the side of Samothes if he knew of the Heat and the Dark, and if he were loyal to Samothes I doubt he would trust Samot’s word for it. So I wrote the fic about that first seed of doubt. 
> 
> I’m not much of a fic writer, I haven’t found the time to write creatively in years, but I actually enjoyed this. (Had enjoyed it more if it wasn’t for having to retake a final in the middle of trying to finish it) So I might actually attempt to continue writing my head-canon timeline sometime.
> 
> Thoughts I wrote down while researching:
> 
> Were there even horses in this period? Was the wholetaur just a horse? (There were horses, the wholetaur was a horse + rider) (Shoutout to whoever wrote the descriptions for Fero’s shapeshifting forms on the wiki and described wolves with “Like dogs, but more wild” and racoons with “Mammals with masks and little hands” btw)
> 
> Wasn’t there a really good horse in TM? (Yes there was !! Duck !!)
> 
> Can I say week? Are there weeks? (Yes, kind of, the days have cool names after the gods !!)
> 
> Is Samot wearing his wedding ring/rings? (Maybe, he needs to be wearing some rings at least, for the drama, Do I need to specify??) (No, I don’t, both options are sad in their own right, it hurts less not to decide.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
